


What's in a Name?

by heightdifference



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: ((i got a 100)), AU, Angst, Brainwashing, Gen, M/M, i think my teacher is a shipper, it ended up as larry fanfic, it was supposed to be sci fi, the usual, this was an english project
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 17:11:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heightdifference/pseuds/heightdifference
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Louis wanted was to be Perfect.<br/>All Harry wanted was to be free.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's in a Name?

If Eleven had known what milk was, it would be exactly how he’d describe the rippling brightness that was the University. Sun ran like liquid across the smooth expanse of marble, unable to expose a single flaw. The entirety of the building seemed bleached; the air was still and the noise was white. The glacial stone accepted no heat, as if even the sun’s warmth wasn’t perfect enough for it.

“Eleven, eyes to the board,” chided the detached voice of the AutoTech Teacher. Eleven started, rushing to copy down the parts of the hovercar from the electronic screen. The University taught him everything he needed to know to be a Perfect. Classes like AutoTech, CompTech, EnergyTech, and CellTech were all necessary to keep the University functioning impeccably. The buzzer at the top of the board beeped, and all the Perfects turned a page in their notebooks to continue the duplication for a third time.

“Final warning, Sixteen, you must move to copy three in 10, 9, 8…” the Teacher began a motorized countdown. Eleven stirred uneasily. There hadn’t been an Extraction in some time, but he wasn’t very good with keeping dates, none of the Perfects were. History wasn’t an important subject, or it would be taught at the University. He focused on the diagram, tuning out the rapid scratching of Sixteen’s frantic pencil and the metallic hum of the Teacher’s vacant voice.

“3, 2, 1. Extraction team, please,” the Teacher droned. Eleven stared fixedly at the board, swiftly committing to memory and paper the parts of the hovercar.

“No! Please! I’m sorry, I’ll work faster on the next set, I promise!” Sixteen cried, his voice uncharacteristically loud and heavy with desperation, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Air cushion! Seat! Propeller! I know them all, I can be a Perfect, I swear!”

Eleven could feel his despair suffocating him, his screams wrapping around his chest and binding his lungs tight. His mind cycled through an equally desperate mantra. Propeller, air cushion, rudder, seat, fan duct. Seat, fan duct, engine, steering, rudder. Air cushion, fan ducts…

The door opened. Eleven heard the mechanical sounds of the Teachers, but doggedly reviewed the parts like an endless chorus. Muffled cries faded, and then abruptly stopped.

The buzzer at the top of the board beeped. Eleven flinched in his seat. All the Perfects turned a page in their notebooks.

Although he’d never admit it aloud, the incident in class had jarred Eleven. While he couldn’t quite remember anything about Sixteen, his Extraction somehow made him uncomfortable. If there was one thing Eleven did remember, it was that Extractions were extremely necessary to make sure that the weak and slow weren’t weighing down the others at the University. The Teachers said they were making Perfects, not Abysmal-Copiers-And-Weak-Students. And the Teachers were always right.

Eleven wearily let himself in to the dormitory, hair still drying from his shower, sweaty socks in one hand, and running shoes in the other. He dropped his clothing into the laundry chute, took a fatigued swig of ChemBev, the University’s standard, and only, drink, and trudged to his bed. He felt heat crawl up his neck, and clenched a fist on the pill bottle.

“Who’s there?” he demanded.

“Twelve.” Eleven spun around, and saw an unfamiliar boy. His hair was messy, dark and curled close to her ears, her eyes green. His throat too dry to form words, Eleven hurriedly drank more, eyes tracking the boy with suspicion. The ChemBev made his head spin, and he sat down to close his eyes.

“Are you okay?” the brunette asked, lips pursed. Eleven shook his head to clear it and stared up at the looming figure with bleary eyes and a blank expression.

“Who are you?” The boy raised his eyebrows, and leaned in, enunciating slowly.

“Twelve, your _roommate,_ ” he repeated, incredulously.

“Yes,” nodded Eleven slowly, “Yes, sorry Twelve, I’m a little tired today.” He felt his eyes on him as he unscrewed the pill bottle and took exactly two. Without looking back at him, Eleven arranged himself in the required Perfect sleep position, and pushed the button that signaled he was ready for sleep. He felt the boy’s sparks prickling on his neck until he fell into darkness.

Waking up, he discovered the boy’s embers had grown into full-fledged flames, skipping across his skin. He shot up, glaring accusingly at Twelve, who was sitting on the top bunk across from him, smiling with little creases in his cheeks.

“I knew it,” he declared triumphantly. Eleven tilted his head up in bemusement. Twelve grinned, “I heard you, and I know, _Louis_.” Eleven opened and closed his mouth, puzzled.

“What on earth is a Louis?” 

“Your name, I’m assuming. From the way you were shouting yourself hoarse in your dreams last night,” he rolled her eyes, “Do pills not work or are you just trying to keep me up?”

“What’s a name?” cried Eleven, running his hands through his hair in frustration. He looked up at the boy and scrunched up his nose, mystified, “What are you talking about, who _are_ you?” Twelve’s eyes crinkled and the small dents dug deeper into his cheeks.

“I’m the one who’s not Perfect,” he winked and hopped down from the bed, grabbing his bottle of ChemBev from the nightstand and tossing it in the incinerator chute, “but my name’s Harry.” He sat facing him and looked at Louis as if he were gauging him. He explained, “Today we’re going to take down the University, Louis. We’re going to destroy it and there’ll be no more Extractions, and no more copying, and no more ChemBev-”

“Wait,” said Eleven, who thought he’d been extraordinarily calm up till this point, “What’s the matter with all that? I mean, besides the-” he lowered his voice and glanced around surreptitiously, “ _-Extractions,_ everything else helps us be Perfect.” Harry gaped at him.

“Think about last week, Louis. Or month, or day. Can you remember? I bet you can’t. You’re so pumped full of ChemBev and brainwashed with ThisTech and ThatTech, that you don’t even know what a book is. Or films, or football. Don’t you want to learn?” he pressed.

Eleven, _Louis_ , looked at Harry with trepidation and asked tentatively, “Say I want to know what all these things are, how do you know all of this, what you’re called, your…name?”

“I never drank any ChemBev,” Harry clarified, “I just don’t like it. And I started to remember friends and music, and then I met people who did too. Like you met me, and they explained everything they remembered to me.” Louis stared at Harry blankly. Friends, football, films, it was a whole new vocabulary. Harry continued, “But they’re all gone now, Extracted or worse. I named myself, after a character in a book,” he paused to grin widely at him, “You’ll love books, I can tell. I can tell a lot of things, that’s why I’m up at night. People are honest when they’re asleep and no one’s watching.”

Louis didn’t know what to do with Harry. He had ten times more energy than he’d seen in a whole room of Perfects, and the runs in his cheeks endlessly fascinated him.

“Look Louis, I know you’re not entirely sold on this, but all you’ve got to do is follow me. I can get us into the Teachers’ headquarters easily enough, but I need help destroying all the ChemBev and spreading the word among the Perfects. Are you in?” Louis had no idea what half of Harry’s words meant, but for some reason, he felt that he could trust him. He nodded mutely; horrified at the consequences of what he was doing. Harry strode over to her bunk and pushed the sleep alert button several times.

“Harry!” Louis rushed over and grabbed his wrist to stop him from continuing, aghast.

“It’s okay, this is our way in,” Harry explained, “I get Extracted, you follow me, and we get into the brain of the University. For now, hide. When they take me, follow quickly so you don’t lose the trail. Got it?” Louis’ breath hitched as Harry shoved him into the closet. He had a feeling that he had always hated being confined in closets, though he couldn’t quite remember why. Harry convincingly acted the part of a distressed Perfect, and as he heard the motorized drone of the Teachers begin to fade away, he knew it was his chance to follow them. But he was paralyzed. He’d spent every day that he could remember regulated at the University. If he were caught rebelling, he’d surely be Extracted. The risk was too much, he was so close to Perfection.

Numbly, he crawled back out of the closet. He couldn’t hear anything. The teachers and Harry were long gone. He left and made his way unfeelingly to the blinding marble University and walked up to the schedule to find his classes for the day.

Worn-out, damp haired, exercise shorts in one hand, and running shoes in the other, Louis sluggishly opened his dorm door. He dropped his sweaty clothing into the laundry chute, parched but refusing to let ChemBev touch his lips. Something ignited on his neck and flickered.

“Harry?” He turned at the noise, but his face was wiped of recognition. Louis tilted his head to match Harry’s.

“Twelve? Whichever’s your name?” Harry turned his head and looked at him questioningly. There were no tiny canyons in his cheeks.

"Harry, I'm so sorry-"

“What’s a name?”

The sparks sputtered to ash, and his skin was cold.


End file.
